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"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHhhhhh fuck," you mutter bitterly, tentatively wiggling your now injured foot. It aches in the most aggravating way as you stretch your toe, making you wince at the shock of pain that runs up your leg. It's the third time today that you've spaced out and hurt something, and you're getting downright sick of it. If you could, you'd sit your brain the fuck down and lecture it on how it should try actually working for once. Your head wasn't in the clouds, it was out of your grubfucking galaxy, floating around and bumping into stars and shit.
All because of her.
Yes. Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are constantly overwhelmed by thoughts of one Terezi Pyrope.
Sure, it's cliche, but you love cliche. You eat it up greedily as you watch romcom after romcom, the lines blurring between each stereotypical, redundant plot. No matter how many quadrants you may add, you could still pick out a pattern of who will vascillate whom, when the quadrant filling will happen, and in the slightly saucier ones, you know right when a bucket will come into play. If you were a more mathematical troll, you could probably make an equation, create a graph, depict the probability of there being a dysfunctional kismesitude. But you're not mathemtical. Just hopeless and in love.
You wish you could say you hate the feeling, that your skin crawls every time you catch yourself obsessing over each perfectly messy lock of hair that falls on her shoulders and how much you want to card your fingers through that hair and count every strand. On the contrary, you're absolutely addicted to thinking about her. Sometimes you just sit down for a moment and ponder how perfect her smile is, how her teeth gleam and show all the way up to her colorless gums. The insurmountable glee that crosses her features, the complete confidence she wears in her thin, black lips. Who wouldn't fall in love with that? It's almost as if-
"OW FUCKING MEOWBEAST SHIT ON A CRACKER," you cuss rather loudly, rubbing your forehead tenderly. "Ugh, troll Will Smith did not prepare me for this."
"Prepare you for what?"
"AAHGHFWUAGHHHHHHHHIIIII TEREZI." You say something similar to hysterical drowning noises and a meowbeast dying, not exactly the most attractive sound. "Hi. Hi. Wow, sorry, you scared the living shit out of...." You're already admiring the curve of her nose and wondering how you could ever have missed something so overwhelmingly breathtaking in your life. Yeah, it's just a nose, you're not even particularly opinionated on the subject of noses, but it's Terezi's nose, and that makes all the difference. "me."
"Are you alright? You seem kinda banged up and dumber than usual." You can practically hear the >:? emoticon in her tone, her voice like singing glass compared to your own. Whenever you speak, you can only equate it to gargling gravel before singing in an eight hour long opera.
"Oh, you wish you could handle my high level of intellect," you retort blandly. Both of you could tell you weren't bringing your A game. "Besides, if I'm being dumb, it's just because of all this fucking clumsiness I've spontaneously inherited. I can actually feel my braincells wither up and die, phrases like "Tell my wife I love her" whispered on their dry, metaphorical lips."
"Hehehehe." Her laughter peters off into worry, her finger pressing slightly against your forehead to survey the damage. Her fingers slide down your cheek to press gently against your cracked lip from when you fell down the stairs. ("I warned you, bro," was all Dave had said after finding you sprawled out on the floor, face flat against the hardwood and mumbling "fuckfuckfuck." He didn't even grab you a band-aid. What a dick.)
You think you're probably dreaming. Her finger leaves your lips and you can do nothing but let out a shaky breath, your heart beating erratically in your chest. You are 99.9999% sure that is unhealthy. You want to say something smooth like "Wanna kiss it better?" or something romantic like "I could lose myself in your eyes." You almost cringe at what actually comes out, the words rushed and breathy like a dam breaking open or pepsi spewing from a recently shaken can.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we ever dated?"
She snorts, a single perfect eyebrow raised on her perfect, beautiful face. "What kind of question is that?"
"Forget it, stupid question. Blame the braincells." You walk away before she can reply and instead decide to stick to your daydreams. No matter how high in the clouds your head may be, Terezi was just a whole other universe far too perfect for you to touch.
"AGH, stupid table!" You kick at the table's leg uselessly, your knee already stinging. Even though he just left, you can't get his question out of your head, along with his disgustingly adorable cowlick. Yes. Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are constantly overwhelmed by thoughts of one Karkat Vantas.